PASSING MAORI MEMORIES

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVI, Issue 165, 13 June 1936, Page 2

PASSING MAORI MEMORIES

Recorded by J.H.S. for the “Manawatu Evening Standard.” Not Real Maori. Shining in the sunlight from New Plymouui, and within a hour’s distance by car toward the north, is the sacred spot known in the tragic early history or New Zealand as “The White Cliffs.” Early in 1869 the British redoubt and blockhouse at Puke Aruhe (Eernroot Hill) had been evacuated, when a tana (war party) of Ngati-Manaiapoto from Waikato murdered eight persons in circumstances so brutal and unusual among tlie Maori people that many who knew their character have always marvelled that any party of Maoris could he' guilty of such ait atrocity. The victims moreover were prominent people of fine character, and are considered to have been sacrificed to some unknown grievance. Other opinions are that Milne and Richards, who were the first to be killed, were the only intended victims, and that Lieut. Gascoigne’s family and the Reverend Whitely were killed in a panic to prevent discovery of the crime. This impression is strengthened by the fact that one of these tangata koliuru (murderers) was Frank Phillips, the half caste son of a European, the others being Weterc, Ilerewini, and Tana. After they had killed Milne and Richards, these four saw Gascoigne approaching from the field carrying the youngest child. The raiders shook hands with, him; but when fie was opening the door he was struck from behind and killed. Mrs Gascoigne and tho children were then killed. Against all Maori custom they then tomahawked the dog and cat. Later on, at sunset, Rev. Jolm Whitely. beloved of all Maori people, approached on horseback intent upon Ins regular mission of goodwill, peace, mercy, and healing. Recognising him as their great benefactor, even these brutal vouths urged him to return to New Plymouth. When he firmly refused, both he and his horse were shot. Here, again, we recognise the sinister admixture of pakeha blood, probably that of an ex-Tasmanian convict. , The bodies were recovered and buried with military honours at New Plvmouth. The monument bears the following details: Rev. John Whitely 62 years Lieut. Bamber Gascoigne 40 years Annie Gascoigne 27 years Lanr Gascoigne 5 years Cecil T/ohn Gascoigne 3 years Louisa Annie Gascoigne ... 3 m ths John Milne 40 years Edward Richards • 35 years A shrine upon the sacred spot at White Cliffs would attract pilgrims of the future. Boys in the Maori War. As a country lad of twelve years, one’s vivid imagination was stirred to see suddenly and silently appear 25 superb horsemen gaily uniformed, each with a sword at his bolt, flapping against a polished “"Wellington” boot, and a short “carbine” strapped across his back, . muzzle pointing down. They halted at our gate, dismounted as one man, and proceeded to unsaddle, then to politely and cheerfully commandeer anything they- required, including our three saddle horses to replace those which were exhausted or lame after the 100 mile ride from Wellington. These were left with us to be cared for and picked up on the return journey, which, alas for many, never came. They were eu route to “the front,” then in South Taranaki, another 100 mile journey of three days. That was Saturday evening July 4, 1868. Our winter bedtime was 5 p.m., and cow time 5 a.m.; but excitement kept us alive till midnight and roused us at ’4 to see their departure at daylight on Sunday morning. They were Captain Ross’s cavalry who were to occupy the redoubt at Turuturu Mokai three miles from the villiage of Hawera. The name tickled our boyish fancy, for we were able to chaff our Maori hoy and girl friends by its litteral translation as “Shut up, you fool.” On Wednesday- morning, July 22, my- birthday, we received a copy of the Taranaki News. Wo were stricken wtih grief, the memory of which is still vivid, on reading that just ten days before our only military hero, Captain Fred Ross, had been killed, his heart cut out by a tomahawk, and eaten by the Maori chief as utu (retribution). Our military equipment was a band of old rod blankets round the forehead, a red flag, and a sword of hard manuka sharpened by- a spokeshave to a cutting edge, a raw hide bridle, circingle and a keenness for a midnight departure to the scene of blood. We had forgotten that our three stock horses, one a snow white Arab pony, were compulsory “loaned” to the troopers. Our ' feeling of revenge was all the more keen because Alfred Ross, brother of the murdered soldier, was an ever welcome visitor to our home in Rangitikei. 'Ten men were killed; but to us the only hero was the captain, whose uniform singled him out in our childish attention. What Boys Remember. In tlie adventurous days of boyhood, the life and death of Gustav Von I’empsky made a vivid impression upon our imagination. We were told that he was tho unnamed silent officer who lmd slept in the hayloft over our stable with his orderly for a night. At day dawn in tho cowshed he held a pannikin over my brother’s shoulder to bo filled with Fanny’s milk. This he drank slowly, the white froth covering his black beard and moustache, then with words strange to our ears, “I tank you,” he took the long track breakfastless, much to our mother’s distress. Ever after his. death Fanny was treated with special veneration.

We all treasured up the contradictory stories from Maoris and soldiers concerning his doings at Ngutu-o-te-Manu and Rua-ruru, names which they translated as “The beak of the cruel hawk” and “The two simple owls.” Te Ngutu they declared to be a mere decoy for those two owls, the pakeha senior officers. Rua-ruru was a unique and impregnable stronghold, closely surrounded by at least sixty great rata trees, growing a few yards apart. In the gnarled b. by branches of each tree fifty feet lrom the ground were hidden half a dozen Maori sharpshooters, who deliberately picked off every officer. How could an assault upon such a position succeed ? Von Tempsky’s division met the full force of the tree men’s fire. He walked among his men and besought them in vain to take cover from the jhail of lead which so strangely fell vertically upon them. There he met death with nearly all his officers. The late James Livingston, of Hawera, told graphic stories of. the bravery and endurance of men and officers, wounded or scatheless, during that retreat. Each fit man carried a wounded comrade, many throw-

ing down their arms to secure speed. Lieutenant Hastings, lying in a pool of blood, said to Livingston who wanted to carry him, “I am mortally wounded—take a man who may live leave me your loaded revolver that 1 may escape the tomahawk.” A Alaori prisoner said Hastings shot four Maoris, then fired his last shot into his own left breast, one bitter fellow calling out to him, “Poroporo aki ki to Atua teka” (pray to your false god).